


Rupture

by keegank



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate POV, Angst, M/M, One Shot, Yearning, lord knows i'm still on my joel/alex bullshit, thats it thats the fic, the inherent homoeroticism of holding someone as they bleed out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keegank/pseuds/keegank
Summary: Even after a perilous journey, spanning days of travel, the ride to the promised land was the most horrific of all.Or, what Joel thought about as his only friend bled to death on his shoulder.
Relationships: (not explicit but it's certainly there), Joel Miller / Alex Churchland
Kudos: 15





	Rupture

The sun was setting over Olathe for the first time in what felt like months, and Joel Miller was mourning the living. He had his hand on Alex’s shoulder in an attempt to keep him upright as blood drained through his bandages, in horrendous pain, his normally piercing green eyes blank and listless. There was music coming through the speakers nearby, but Joel barely noticed it despite the fact there was nothing but silence in the vehicle otherwise, sometimes interrupted by the jolting of the bus as it ran over a rock or passed over a hole in the dirt. The strangers in leather jackets didn’t utter a word between them, either, the one they called Gale simply nodding along to the melody in the air.

The man who let Alex get shanked was sitting in the same row as them, but as far away as he could get. He didn’t look at the pair, not even once, preferring to stare down at his legs, his gloved hands folded in his lap. Was he too ashamed to look at them, or did he just not want to risk seeing the present grief and anger in Joel’s face? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to break the silence.  
He said nothing to Alex, either-- not because there was nothing to say, but because there was too much. It was all too much, too difficult, and he couldn’t talk the way he needed, the only way that felt genuine, with others around. A simple ‘goodbye’ still held in the air between them, but neither would say it, foolishly holding out hope the shorter man would recover from his injuries.  
Or perhaps it was something else.   
A sort of foolish solemnity and hollowness overtook Joel now, and he bit his lip, gazing out of the bars that passed as a window. A few men in familiar green and red jerseys were chasing the bus. Fruitlessly, of course-- they could never catch up to it. Joel exhaled, averting his gaze. 

If he ever had to see another one of those jerseys again, it would be too soon.

He doubted the jerseyheads would be let into the City-- most likely they’d be gunned down on sight. He prayed to whatever cruel, callous God was left they would be, and that his friend would survive the journey, and they’d be safe. The blood from Alex’s wounds was drying on his beard now and soaking into Joel’s hand. It hadn’t stopped, and showed no signs of doing so, despite how tightly his wounds were tied.  
He was still breathing, Joel could feel it. It would take a miracle to keep him alive for much longer, though he’d been through plenty of other situations just as dangerous. He’d been shot in the back and left to die. (Joel nursed him back to health.) He’d nearly collapsed of heatstroke. (Joel had helped him keep walking.) He’d been knocked out in battle so many times, but Joel was always there with a vial of perfume to pick him back up once more, and he’d help him through this, too. He made a silent, determined vow that if they got through this one, he’d defend this man with his life, always-- this could never happen again. He trusted Alex, believed in him when he said there was a safe haven out there somewhere-- and there they were now, heading to it. He couldn’t die before they got there, that would be an injustice, not after everything they went through to get this far, the pile of bodies left behind them, the scars they had gained from each man who wanted nothing more than to kill for the sake of killing and tear flesh only for the sake of hurting another human being in a frenzied storm of senseless violence.  
He wouldn’t let that happen. His nails dug into the other man’s shoulder. He didn’t show any sign that he registered the touch.

Joel leaned back as they passed through a tunnel, full of graffiti. There was a Joy Mutant within, and he cringed despite the fact he was safe inside the bus. Plus, as far as he knew, mutants couldn’t bite through metal.   
They left the tunnel just as fast as they entered, the blazing sunset on view once more. He wondered what the city lights would look like; if they were just as glorious as he thought they would be, like the ones he’d seen on late-night television shows and pictures before the Flash. Did they even have electricity in the City? Surely, they must. Maybe even plumbing, garbage disposal, medicine... if they were really lucky, television and refrigeration. What a wonder those would be to have back.  
He hoped with all his heart that the man resting beside him would still be around to enjoy them, too.

Even if he survived, he wasn’t entirely sure what they were going to do once they reached their destination. Were there shops? Rations? Would they need to work for magazines?   
Would life become relatively normal again?  
He could hardly dare to think it, but what if it were true? No more desperation or violence; just him and Alex in a little flat together, working throughout their days and simply enjoying each others’ company at night, laughing and sharing stories as they so often did. Bedmates, perhaps. He ached, longing for the fantasy to become truth, but slowly pulled himself back to reality. Wishful thinking-- that’s all that was, and uncertainty mingled with anxious dread loomed over him once again, despite the fact that against all odds, they were here. Alex was still alive, still breathing, his shoulders rising and falling and taking Joel’s hand with them. Even though each shallow, laboured breath might be his last, in defiance of everything, he was still there in that moment, and that counted for something.

Right?


End file.
